Nobody? Good, it's shit now. But does anybody remember back when it was good? And when I say that, I mean about five serieses ago, before they moved the school to the middle of Liverpool and had that twat guy Togger or Tigger or whatever he was with the orange skin turn up and fuck it all up? Yeah? Before the stupid video game style opening? Anybody remember that?
The last proper series of Grange Hill was cracking. There was this evil deputy head guy who hit a pupil and tried to get him thrown out of school and who was really really mean to the kids. I think he ended up blowing up the school at the end of the season by accidentally setting fire to it (how do you blow up a school with a single match? I mean, just showing us a shot of some bottles in a chemistry laboratory is not enough to suspend my belief, but anyway). I can't even remember if it was established if he was killed in the resulting HUGE blast or if he escaped. I like to think he did, and even now I hope that he'll wander back into set, wearing a permanently hood-up hoodie á la Sam in Hollyoaks, and murder a few pupils. Oh I can only dream.
Why am I even talking about this? Oh yeah, well basically I was remembering the second-to-last episode, the one when the good pupils of Grange Hill realised that Mr Von Dastardly was evil and tried to stop him by putting his picture up on the website (I LOVE how I remember all of this but if you ask me who Deborah Tanning was, I'm stumped). Basically, Mr Von Dastardly found out and went a bit batshit. He stole a semiautomatic shotgun from the PE shed and marauded around the school, blasting holes in pupils left right and center. BLAM there goes the history teacher's chest-cavity. BOOM take that token black girl. CRASH oh NO KIDS YOUR HEADMASTER DOESN'T HAVE A STERNUM. It was such a good episode, and it ended with him mowing down a bunch of 11 year olds, straightening his tie, and being like "Stay in school kids... FOREVER" and cackling at his pathetic witticism.
Fucken dog. Ok FINE the shotgun thing probably didn't happen, which makes the previous two paragraphs totally redundant, especially as the rest of this post hinges on the idea of running around school with a shotgun killing 11 year olds. Which is what I would have quite happily spent most of today doing. But let's have a memento-style flashback because I'm smart like Ian McEwan and I understand the basics of non-chronological storytelling.
The day didn't start well. As I walked along the street to school, some little kid leant out of a car window and yelled "ALRIGHT MATE" to me. I don't know why, but I take serious offence at being greeted by people I don't know, especially when it is done in such a flippant manner. It also annoyed me that I looked round while walking to see his ugly little mockingly grinning face. It triply annoyed me that my legs kept walking and I was unable to think of an appropriately witty comeback. At all. I had essentially been outwitted by an 11 year old yelling "ALRIGHT MATE". I mean, that's not even a joke. It's just a greeting. I'm sure Oscar Wilde would have been able to slice that little shit down with a well placed blast of irony. But I was ironyless. I just kind of gaped and walked along the road listening to the Subways.
This happened another two times in the next few hours; small children waved at me and yelled ALRIGHT MATE which annoyingly jolted me out of my intellectual reveries about what it'd be like if there were an infinite dimensions, and the horrifying sense of the vastness of infinity. When you are thinking about an alternative dimension in which the only difference in the whole of human history is the fact that you happen to be wearing a green shirt instead of a blue one on a given day, being distracted by some pimply sugar-hopped eleven year old is hardly welcome.
This just adds to my hypothesis that young people nowadays do not respect their elders. When I was a little third year, I always respected my elders. In fact, I lived in mortal fear of the mighty 6th Formers who could crush me with their mighty strength and wisdom. I vowed that I would be friendly and nice to all the little implings when I was a 6th Former, and would spread peace and light across the galexy. And now, when I'm the oldest pupil in the school and am polite enough to not ram them out of the way, to occasionally hold open a door for them, to abstain from smacking them across the back of the head, what do they do? They take the piss and greet me impudently. Little shits. I don't think they're even particularly victimising me; they seem to just be generally cheekier to everyone. Fuckers.
My only consolation was that these kids probably haven't hit puberty yet and its unlikely that they had ever kissed a girl. This is my only comeback whenever I am outwitted by some dipshit 11 year old, and when the third little kid leapt out at me from the top of the biology staircase and yelled HELLO at me, I was ready.
"Oh yeah, well your balls haven't even dropped yet AND I HAVE A GIRLFRIEND," I yelled. The kid fell to his knees. His bottom lip quivered. He started to cry.
"IT'S RIGHT! I'M A PATHETIC LOSER! I JUST WANT ATTENTION!" he howled. I took no notice and picked him up by his tie. I proceeded to batter his ugly little monkey-head against the wall for like ten minutes before throwing him down the stairs and leaping down to crush his puny little broken body under my steel-capped hobnailed boots and
Ok fine I went up to hide in the library. There's no shame in that, though; our new library is buff. It has new doors and fancy computers and everything. I would pretty much sleep with it if it had some sort of manipulatable orifice. I spent like the entire day today slumped on a comfy chair in the reading room studying a book about Vietnam. Man that war sounded shitty. But the idea of being allowed to shoot innocent children (especially those who say ALRIGHT MATE in a vietnamese accent... "Alwight Matey I love you Longtime Ten Dorrar") is attractive. I might have fallen asleep on the chair, but I eventually got up and decided that it was time to go eat some food. As I left I noticed one particular 4th year who I have named "Kiwi Head". Not because he is from New Zealand, but because his head is shaped like a fucking kiwi. He has black hair, braces, and a permanent shit-eating grin plastered across his face. I basically hate him with my eternal soul.
Kiwi Head was grinning at me. I gave him a glare that should rightly have melted the skin off his ugly little face and strode manfully out of the library.
BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP
What the fuck?
The beeper next to the door went crazy as I walked through the door scanner thing. Almost immediately one of the valkerie-like librarians dropped silently down from the ceiling and grabbed me. "COME BACK" she screamed. "YOU SET OFF THE SECURITY SCANNER". I would have done more to beat her down and flee the library, but I was temporarily reminded of the the last time I set off a security scanner; It was exactly four years ago yesterday, and I was travelling to New York dressed as an arab when the box of grenades I had labelled "For hijacking the plane and killing all the passengers" set off the beeper. I managed to kick one of the guards to the floor and I was running full-speed towards the plane screaming ALLAH when somebody took me down. Man, that took some explaining but I'm pretty sure they were satisfied with my explanation.
"TURN OUT YOUR POCKETS" hissed the librarian. Across the library, Kiwi-Head started sniggering. "Send him to prison!" he yelled. His wit gained a drumroll and a round of applause from a hidden studio audience. Valkerie-woman made me take off my jacket, took all the stuff out of it, piled it up on the counter, jacked my chewing gum and insinuated that I had stolen a piece of literature before finally ripping off a security tag that had been hidden in my pocket by somebody or other. I'm not going to insinuate who. Fucking Kiwi-Headed twat. I can only hope that his Kiwi-shaped head is a result of some huge brain tumour and that he'll be in a coma by the end of the year. Yeah.
Then the librarian made me write MY NAME DOWN on the library naughty book as apparently I like to steal tags from magazines. Ladies and gentlemen IS THAT JUSTICE? Luckily, I managed to track down Kiwi-boy later. I kidnapped him, beat him up a bit, then stripped him naked, suspended him from the ceiling using huge hooks, punched him a bit more, stuck long sharp metal pins through his jaw, then heated up a huge bowl of boiling hot Tempora Oil and tipped the pan over his stupid little kiwi shaped
Fuck's sake. Today has simply proved my totally ineffective position on this planet. I can't wait til I leave school and go on to be ineffective somewhere else. Like prison. Or MacDonalds. I'll have my revenge some day. Perhaps.
This post is the kind of thing that gets mentioned as a possible contributing factor in a follow-up to a news story ending in the words "...before turning the gun on himself."
EDIT: Turns out that it was actually a certain tall gangly stupidly named big-nosed art student in my year who put the tag on my blazer (you can try to guess who he is), and not Kiwi-Head. So sorry Kiwi-Head, you are innocent. But I still think you're a cunt. Fucking twatfaced bastard Kiwi-Headed little shit.
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